Angel laughed at her expression. "It's okay," he said before she could
  apologize. "How many do you want?"

  "I'll get it." She began looking for her money. Angel stopped her.

  "My treat. All of it."

  "But you don't even eat," she protested.

  "I'm the guy," he grinned. "I pay."

  "Chauvinist."

  "Chivalry."

  "Chivalry is dead."

  His grin broadened as he leaned close and whispered, "So am I."

  She laughed. She didn't mean to. It wasn't funny. It was deranged.
  She tried to stop, but the roguish, unrepentant expression on Angel's
  face made it difficult. He really did have a twisted sense of humor.

  "That is very warped," she told him when she could breathe again. "That
  really shouldn't be funny."

  "Probably not," he agreed with a smile. "I bet you're going to want a
  drink, too, aren't you?"

  ****

  Willow thoroughly enjoyed the game. Even with her dad's company tickets
  she'd never been so close to the ice. These seats are eighty dollars
  apiece, she realized with a twinge of guilt. This whole expedition was
  costing Angel nearly two hundred dollars. And she still wasn't sure why
  he was doing it. But she was having fun. She was beginning to get the
  hang of his skewed humor and enjoying his quick wit. Too bad there
  aren't any human guys like him around, she thought wistfully.

  When the game was over they joined the crowds heading for the parking
  lots. Angel draped an arm protectively around Willow's shoulders to
  avoid losing her in the shuffle. Although the crowd eventually thinned
  he kept his arm around her. They walked in comfortable, weary silence
  toward their distant parking space. I could get use to this, Willow
  thought. He's like the big brother I never had. He stiffened abruptly
  and she realized that she had said it aloud. He seized her arm and spun
  her to face him.

  "Don't ever say that," he snapped at her. "I was a terrible big
  brother."

  "I… I'm sorry," she said, stunned at his reaction. As quickly as it had
  flared, his anger was gone. He stared at her in bemusement.

  "Maybe that's it," he whispered to himself. He twisted a strand of her
  hair around one of his fingers. "My youngest sister had red hair."

  Willow stared at him. She was afraid of what he would say next. She
  knew what had happened to his family.

  "She was nine years old when I killed her." The horror in his eyes was
  awful. He tangled more of his fingers in her hair as he spoke. "She's
  the one who invited me in. She was so happy to see me."

  Willow's heart ached for him. His hand tightened in her hair.

  "She trusted me," he choked. "And I killed her."

  "No!" Willow said. "No, you didn't. It wasn't you. It was the demon."

  "It doesn't matter." His eyes were full of anguish. "I remember doing
  it."

  She stood silently. She knew there was nothing she could say to ease his
  pain and guilt. His eyes glittered but she knew he wouldn't cry. So,
  she did the only thing she could think of. She wrapped her arms around
  his waist and cried for him. After a moment he hesitantly put his arms
  around her and gently stroked her hair. When her sobs subsided he led
  her wordlessly to the car.